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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181040">Pretty Ribbons of Blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70'>Lexalicious70</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Presents, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:54:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Quentin’s gift-wrapping skills need work, but Eliot has a solution that won’t hurt his boyfriend’s pride.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pretty Ribbons of Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don’t own The Magicians, etc etc. Comments and kudos are magic, and happy holidays! </p>
<p>Special thanks to jasonralphfans and orpheliot on Twitter, who contributed their headcanon to this fic. Y'all are wonderful! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Oh, goddamn it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot looked up from arranging presents under the Physical Kids Cottage Christmas tree (tallest in the back, stacked so the bows don’t get crushed,) to see Quentin at the battered card table he’d set up near the hidden reading nook, Christmas wrapping paper, rolls of tape, and a pair of scissors with purple handles on a shelf within arm’s reach. Strips of tape adorned the edges of the table and as Eliot watched, his boyfriend tried to wrap a glittering crystal vase for Margo. Paper crinkled and crackled, almost as if in reply to Quentin’s muttered curses. The tape fell to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot got to his feet and patted his hair back in place before brushing a few errant pine needles from his shoulder. He crossed the room and picked up the roll of tape and set it back on the shelf. Four of the five fingers on Quentin’s right hand held more strips of tape, and the bottom of the vase’s wrapping had what looked like several feet of extra paper. Eliot hesitated and then cleared his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q . . .” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He pulled a piece from one finger and stuck it where one side of the paper had a noticeable slant to it.  When that one curled back, he slapped another piece over it. Eliot winced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweetie, that’s too much tape. Let me--” He took a step forward and Quentin waved him away, frowning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, El!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That might be better off in a gift bag, Q, with some tissue paper to protect it. The shape is too difficult and it’s Christmas Eve, let me--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to wrap it! I have ribbon that I want to use!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot folded his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together. He could imagine Margo’s reaction; despite the thought counting, she’d probably make some comment about how the wrapping looked like Hallmark vomited everywhere which, Eliot had to admit, wasn’t too far off the mark. But Quentin was stubborn and could be surprisingly snappish about such things, whether it was learning a new spell, mastering a language, or wrapping Christmas gifts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q--” Eliot flinched as his partner twisted a length of paper and tied it with some ribbon, which hung down in a listless way. Paper gaped on one side, crooked and rumpled. Quentin shot him a combative look and Eliot nodded to himself. “I was going to ask if you wanted a drink,” he said, and some of the defensiveness left Quentin’s expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Uhm, sure El, thanks.” He picked up another gift for Margo, a palette of eyeshadow Eliot had helped him pick out as Eliot went to the bar and started to mix a few drinks. The tape dispenser scratched and popped as Quentin continued to fight with the wrapping paper, and then Eliot handed him a red, smoky-looking drink in a goblet-style wine glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, try this,” he said, and Quentin frowned at it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s something of my own design. I call it St. Nick’s Knickers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin held the drink up to the light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not sure if I’m okay with drinking something that might have been in someone’s knickers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just the name! Try it!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin took a sip and his dark eyes flickered with surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s really good! What’s in it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that . . . liqueur, grenadine . . .cherry juice, I think. I don’t write these things down, it’s all about inspiration, you know.” Eliot sipped from his own glass. “Come on, drink up!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the next half hour, Quentin drained his glass and Eliot refilled it. Halfway through his second drink, Quentin claimed he needed a break and walked an uneven line to the couch, where he promptly passed out. Eliot grinned as Quentin began to snore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My lightweight love,” he said, kissing Quentin on the forehead. The drink contained both Schnapps and Southern Comfort, along with the cherry juice, and he knew hard liquor usually knocked Quentin on his ass. “We do what we have to,” Eliot sighed and made himself a second drink as he turned toward the wrapping table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>____________________________________________________________________________</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christmas morning dawned grey and snowy, and Eliot roused Quentin early, where he coaxed his partner into a pair of plaid Christmas pajamas that matched his own new pair. Quentin rubbed his eyes and yawned as he tugged the bottoms on over nothing at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, what did we drink last night?” He asked, and Eliot smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you . . . Saint Nick’s Knickers. And you were a beast at that wrapping table. I guess the booze eased your anxiety about it.” They went downstairs hand in hand, where Margo waited for them in a long pink robe, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, bitches,” she smiled, the warm tone belying the word. Eliot bent down and kissed her cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Bambi.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Margo.” Quentin patted her shoulder and plopped down on the couch. He glanced at the Christmas tree, blinked, then looked again. His gifts glimmered in the lights from the tree, wrapped with the ribbon he’d picked out, the corners of each package so tight and precise that Quentin figured you could bounce a quarter off them. Even Margo’s vase shone with new paper, a curled ribbon, and an iridescent bow. He looked up at Eliot, blinking, and Eliot nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you, the booze made you loose as a goose!” He smiled. “You decided you hated how you’d wrapped things so far so decided to start over. It was really something!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything looks great,” Margo nodded as she slipped on a Santa hat, her name written on it in glitter. “And I’m playing Santa, so park your butts!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, once the three magicians opened their gifts and Eliot brewed an excellent pot of peppermint bark coffee, he sat down on the couch and smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Q . . . can I open my last gift now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last gift?” Quentin glanced around. They’d tossed the paper in a large box, and the purple tree skirt under the tree was empty. “I think we opened everything.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” “Eliot’s grin widened and Margo put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. Eliot nodded to the full-length mirror across the room and Quentin frowned as he approached it. “Turn around,” Eliot smiled, and Quentin turned a bit as he looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he saw silver cursive writing across the seat of the new pajamas he’d tugged on earlier without much thought, sleepy and operating on autopilot. The writing read, </span>
  <span>“Do Not Open ‘Till Christmas.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Christ,” Quentin muttered, his cheeks and ears going red, and Eliot chuckled and crooked his finger at the younger man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want to unwrap me, you have to catch me first!” Quentin bolted up the steps and Eliot got to his feet with the manner of a man who has all the time in the world for pursuit. Margo sipped her coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think he’ll figure out you re-wrapped all those gifts for him once he passed out?” She asked, and Eliot smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, he probably knows, but that’s Q. He wants to indulge me,” he said, and Margo waved him away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on, shoo . . . go unwrap your boy.” She tapped the set of collectible first-edition erotic books Eliot had found at an indie bookstore in Queens. “I want to take a look at these in private.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure,” Eliot smiled as he gathered up some ribbon. Margo watched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Going to do a bit more wrapping?” She smiled as Eliot tested the strength of the iridescent strands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cute brown-eyed magicians tied up with string,” Eliot sang as he began to climb the stairs, and his voice drifted back to her. “These are a few of my favorite things!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door to Quentin’s room slammed shut a moment later, punctuated by a yelp of surprise and the sound of his and Eliot’s mingled laughter as Christmas snow blanketed the world outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The End </span>
  </em>
</p>
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